Almost Alice
by Damelia Evenshire
Summary: Alice Winter is unimportant in her "real" life. But in Wonderland, she's all that stands between a civil war...Sorry, I'm rubbish at writing summaries! This is my first fanfiction, so be gentle. I'll get the hang of it sooner or later. T because I'm paranoid.
1. What Waits in Wonderland

**Okay, hi! This is my first attempt at a FanFiction. I am a very big Alice in Wonderland fan, so I decided, well, why not?**

**Disclaimer: I own NOTHING *slinks in to a corner shamefully* Alice in Wonderland belongs to Lewis Carrel. **

**Enjoy and please, review! **

**P.S: I know it starts out in a confusing manner. Wonderland and the "real" world are separate places. You'll understand in no time! **

I hear the impossibly loud noise reverberate through my head. I feel the hand come in contact with my right cheek. I can't evade the first one, but I duck before he gets the left. Him, who operates without a name and only emerges from his bedroom to hurt me. I run and slam the door violently.

I get the first thing in sight: a bookshelf. I put it against the door. I hear him pounding against it. I lean back against the bookshelf, using the 103 pounds I possess to keep him out. He eventually gives up. Somebody inside of me takes over, kicking the real me out and runs in to bed. She throws the sheets over me and curls up so small. She closes my eyes and softly whispers: _take me to Wonderland_.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_. The sickeningly sweet sound fills my ears. I close my eyes as I make the transition from here to Wonderland. I open my eyes. The grass is painfully green. The stream that's only four feet wide is crystal clear and blue as my eyes. I hear the soft footsteps of Blanco. His hair is short and white as snow. I've never seen his entire face. He wears the mask of a bunny that covers half his face and is always armed with a fleecy vest and a golden pocket watch.

"Lady Winter, the White Queen awaits." He bows his head. I look away from the water. "Blanco, please, formalities aren't needed." I smile. "As you say…Alice." He says after some hesitation. "Regardless, she's waiting. Word is the Red Queen answered her letter." We start walking to the White Palace. "Eliza will be pleased." I say cautiously. "The White Queen is anything but. She hasn't left her room in four days." He says. "I thought that Eliza and Marianne where on good terms." I say, puzzled. "Lady Winter—Alice, the Queens are never on good terms." He opens the white doors.

I am greeted by an orderly row of white attendants. One, wearing a slightly whiter shade (if that's even possible) hands me a cup of steaming brown broth. I knock it back. I shrink, shrink, shrink down to the size of a finger. Blanco hands me a green dress fitted for me at this size. I keep walking, now barefoot, to the doors of the White Queen's throne room. Once inside, another attendant bends down and offers me a very small piece of cake. I accept it gratefully and grow, grow, grow to my normal size. I am handed clothing. I give my tiny dress to the attendant and keep walking.

Eliza is sitting on her white padded chair, also made of white wood. Her light blond hair might have been in a braid, but now it's intensely frizzed. I sit down on her bed and look at her. She's 15, a year older than me, and runs half a nation.

"Do you ever knock?" she smiles tiredly. "Occasionally. But you never open the door when I do." I reply. Eliza and I know each other very well—I'm partly the reason she's queen of White. But admittedly, the peace she's been trying to keep with Marianne is very thin.

Marianne is her sister who looks nothing like her: she's short, red haired and evil, in every sense of the world. She doesn't so much rule as she operates the Red. Nothing gets done without her consent. Nothing is sold without her consent, though more often than not she lets her servants and advisors (in reality, they're just servants of higher status) take care of minor things such as shopping. The one thing she does take great pride in is her executions. We have precious few spies in the Red for this reason. If any living thing in the Red steps out of line, they're given the courtesy of a trial. Every single person in this trial is bought. The number of executions in the Red are enormous, but Eliza and I can't do a thing about it, because those are the laws in the Red. And as long as she stays within the laws, she's untouchable.

"Why don't I fix your hair? Blanco and the others will want to speak to you about the letter." I suggest. She nods and turns around in her chair. I take her hairbrush and start running it through her hair. I find a few bobbypins and put her hair up, letting a single curl dangle loose. "Thanks." She says gently.

She searches on her mess of a desk and finds pink lipstick. She applies it generously and then puts a bit of eyeliner around her crystal clear, green eyes. She looks at me. "Do I look okay?" she asks. "Perfect. But you may want to go down wearing more than a bathrobe." I joke.

She laughs and opens her closet. The thing is enormous and filled with clothing in varying shades of white, all except for two, which she hardly ever wears. She finds a cream dress with delicate beading and slips it on, taking the bathrobe off as I turn away.

We walk down to the court in silence. Blanco is sitting in a chair, calmly nibbling at a caramelized carrot. Erin is tapping her fingers against the white wood anxiously. Vanille is the one I don't know about. She's new on the court.

She has an accent that would suggest she had a French upbringing, but she has very sharp features and intent blue eyes. Her dyed dark hair is pulled out of her face harshly, defining her dark brown eyes.

"We all know why we're here, let's not waste time." Erin announces. "Marianne wrote back." Eliza says carefully. "Who cares what the bloody Red Queen says? We've always almost been at war with her." I turn around and I have to smile.

The Mad Hatter, as he's commonly called. His real name is rumored to be Charlie, but nobody would dare call him anything but Hatter. "Hatter, you're late." Erin says sharply. "Sorry, miss. _Somebody_ didn't tell me Alice was in Wonderland." He says, glaring at Blanco.

"I do have things to do, Hatter." He defends himself. "Never mind that." Eliza says angrily. Vanille stays silent. "Do we go to war with the Red?" I ask finally. Silence. "I would think that the Red is not our main priority." Vanille says. Obviously, Erin does not agree.

"Then what would be? We've been at the brink of war for months, and if we just let this slide—" "Then Marianne's won." I complete. Erin makes a face. "We could vote on it." Blanco suggests lightly. "Fine." Eliza says.

"All in favour of war against the Red, raise a hand." She says. Blanco's hand goes up, mine does, Hatter's does and Eliza's does. "_Madame la reine_, please, reconsider. We have other things to attend to!" Vanille exclaims. "No, we don't. We've got Marianne to worry about now." Eliza says, gaining obvious confidence that she didn't have a minute ago.

I feel the bizarre sensation of the scenery rippling. "Stop." I say and their bickering comes to an abrupt halt. Blanco stands and comes over to my side. He looks me in the eye. "She's leaving. Not the normal way, she's coming out of it by force…" his voice starts fading by the end of the sentence.

I snap my eyes open and look around. Wonderland is gone, replaced by my plain blue bedroom.


	2. Pain is only in the Mind

**Okay, thank you for all those who have read! I hope the edits made to chapter one clarify a few things...**

**And yes, please, pretty please, review!**

**-Damelia**

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They say pain is in the mind. I don't actually understand what they mean by that. To me, pain is real, and Wonderland is in the mind. It's a simple concept, really.

I'm well aware that Wonderland is probably not real, probably only accessible by dreaming or hurting. To get to Wonderland in a waking state, I need to be in enough pain to be distracted. I have, on several occasions, thought about hurting myself to get there, but having an abusive father and being the bully's preference means I don't need to. Other people do it for me, and it always results in going back to Wonderland.

The bruises on my arms are very obvious. Bruises made by big hands belonging to my father. He only hurts me when I talk about Wonderland—he says it isn't normal. Mom notices when he hurts me, I think, but she leaves it alone. Talking about Wonderland makes pain—a very real thing—exist. But after the pain, I always go to Wonderland.

I occasionally go out of my way for him to hurt me, just so I can go to there.

Though the pain brings the sweetness of beautiful, beautiful escape, it leaves marks. I cover them with ridiculous arm-warmers that will do nothing more than make me even weirder than I am at school, but that's all okay. Maybe if those at school hurt me, I'll get more time to help Eliza.

As it turns out, I'm completely right.

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**Now please, click that lovely little blue box. **


	3. Up is Down

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Some things don't make sense to me.

Greek mythology?

That's high up on my list right now.

Mr. Vinson, the one teaching Greek Mythology, is a pain on the best of days. But today it's as if he's being purposefully obtuse. It's not helping that I periodically get a sticky note with 'AW: attention whore' written on it in cruel black scrawls. The boys at the back of the class snigger. Mr. Vinson notices. He kicks them out. In my mind, a form of justice is played out.

But while the boys are stupid, girls are mean. Boys point, laugh and move on. If they can remember who they've bullied for more than two days, it's a miracle. And a very unlucky person. Girls, on the other hand, are vicious. They tear the person apart and latch on to them, sucking the life of them, for months until some other poor soul crosses their path. Abnormality sets them off.

I must be like candy to them.

Talking about Wonderland at school is just asking for a punch in the face. Really, it's too obvious for me. I choose to do things like wear clothing that I _know _will trigger a reaction. Going to Wonderland at school, however, is apparently similar to being stoned. Or, so the people who've observed this say. When I'm in Wonderland, they can't actually bother me because I'm completely unresponsive until I'm out. Wonderland is beautiful.

I feel myself transitioning and _I'm in class, how on earth did this happen? _I can't be asleep, because Mr. Vinson's nasal voice is clear as a bell, but everything is rippling and I can all but feel myself leaving. Class ends in 40 minutes. _Come on Alice, ground yourself! _I dig my nails in to my palms but that's just getting me there faster. I'm not sure at what point I succumb, but when I do, something feels wrong.

For one, I'm short. Which is a very, very, different position for me. And my hair feels…heavier. Thicker. I look and it's red. I search for a mirror in alarm. I'm wearing several different shades of red. My hair is red. The only logical explanation is that I'm the Red Queen. But…logic doesn't apply in Wonderland. If you think about it enough, up is likely to become down and right left. But…changing person? That's just unreasonable. And if I'm Marianne…

…That means Marianne is me.


End file.
